A friend of mine loves airports. He loves watching people come and go, waiting and meeting in those wide, brightly lit halls. He loves speculating about them—who they are, where they’re going, why they’re leaving. What their stories are. I’d say airports are among his muses. He’s so fascinated with them that he’s written a series featuring his friends and how they would be at an airport. I’ve read two of those shorts. Sadly, I’m not in any of them. No worries, though. Because in four—count ’em, four—days, I’ll be that person in the airport. Another face in the crowd of people waiting to take off. Another story waiting to unfold and be told. With this story being four years in the making, it ought to be a good one. From dreaming to doing It still hasn’t completely sunk in that I’m finally going on my Eurotrip. It isn’t the exact same trip I’d dreamt of back in 2012. I’m not going to Russia, since that received a firm no from my parents. And I’m a …

Last Christmas, I told my friends I had a feeling 2016 would be an eventful year for me. Call it a hunch, but I just knew it would bring about something great, or at least something greater than the year before. I even ushered it in with my family in Batanes, one of the most beautiful places in the Philippines. There was no way my year could go wrong. Barely two weeks in, and I was suffering from vertigo and what my doctor would diagnose as acute hearing loss. It eventually healed, much to my relief, but it left me shaken. Add in the turmoil of my job, and I was dazed and confused and so, so stressed. But I had another chance, because February meant Chinese New Year. And though I’m not Chinese and not really into horoscopes and zodiacs, I learned that the Year of the Fire Monkey would be a great one for Dragons. Ding, ding, ding. I thought, This is it. February 8 came and went. Still no turning point. It’s okay, I told …

Whenever I tell someone that I want to travel on my own, I always get one of two reactions: an excited, “Me too!” or a scrunched-up expression followed by, “Why do you want to do that?” or some variation thereof. Maybe it’s the communal nature of Filipinos that makes this idea so alien to us. Whether we’re eating, exercising, or watching movies, we love being with our friends and family. I do enjoy traveling with other people, but I’ve wanted to try it solo for some time now. So that’s exactly what I did a week ago—despite my parents’ worries. Part of my reason for doing so was that I wanted to prove to other people that I could hack it on my own, no matter how sheltered and introverted and neurotic I am. But more than that, I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to escape my safe little box and test my mettle. And I didn’t want my fears to hold me back from living. I’m so glad I went ahead with it. My Yogyakarta trip was just …

One of my favorite things about traveling is how it shows me how different other cultures and countries are from my own, just as it reveals how similar they can be as well. I love how no two places are the same. How every experience brings me another level of appreciation, of understanding and misunderstanding of the world. How the most random people I come across impact me in the most unexpected ways. A few days ago, I came home from a short trip to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam–at least that’s how it’s properly called these days. I much prefer Saigon, if not because it reminds me of that beautiful musical I’ve yet to watch, then because it paints a picture more vivid and representative of the city than “Ho Chi Minh” or HCMC. Many things about Saigon reminded me of other Asian countries I’ve been to, including my own–from the tangle of electrical lines criss-crossing along the streets to the busy markets where shoppers haggle their way to the best prices. But you know the …

*I wrote this entry last July 4, but didn’t post it then because my sister didn’t know until Sunday that our dog was shaved. Forgive the rambling. A few days ago, our dog went to the pet spa kicking and howling, and came home two hours later bald and defeated. Our dog is a Siberian husky, turned six last June, and is the prince of the house. He has doors opened for him, owns his personal electric fan, and he stays in air-conditioned rooms longer than most of us do. We named him Coffee, after the family favorite beverage, and only because the name Cappuccino–Cino, for short–ended with the syllable “no”. According to the dog trainer, that would be negative reinforcement. Or some other psychological mumbo jumbo.

I hadn’t planned on writing about this, but I figured I might as well get it off my chest. You know how they say that you should be happy for someone else’s successes? I’ve read a number of different things about this, like how the successful ones are those who don’t begrudge others for their good fortune. And yes, I know that if that person is important to me, I should be happy for them. Problem is, sure, I’m happy, but more often than not, the scale tips over in favor of jealousy. Oscar Wilde said: “Anyone can sympathize with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathize with a friend’s success.” If I go by his words, I’m thinking I don’t have ‘a very fine nature’. Does this make me a bad person? I know I should be happy and I want to be, but knowing and wanting are two very different things from ‘being’. How do I go about being truly, genuinely happy for someone else? Is this ability …